Thursday, September 17, 2009

The Meaning of Missing Dreams: A Short Story

Emerging from night's slumber, wiping away the gritty sand in the corners of my eyes like a sand dweller's dried up tears for hope the illusion, the mirage will be the missing spirit waters to sooth the soul and make all right again. My missing time piece, grandpa's gold pocket watch, a piece, a place in time. As missing time is to mainframe glitch so is that other missing(s). My missing dreams.
The only bits left are cold leftovers now. Cruddy crumbs remanants from long ago, urgent need to turn to dusty sedments, yet the sands of time and dreams remain awakening us to new dreams are not only possible but probably in the impossible world. The horrible world. The beautiful world. The dictomy is we become sandwiched or should I say "meme'd'" between the two like toejam. Ugh. All or nothing, nothing at all or something like sand with which not much can be accomplished, if at all. These fragile fractured segments of which once were whole blocks of undiscoveredness; worlds once awoke in Roanake to this state of perfection, this raison d'etre that was never questioned, never schooled in the scold mechanism of ridiculous ridicule; the place for placement. Where we, you, I, me stand in this vast expanse of universe.
It has all been left behind. For those fully engaged in the now, this supposed wake state; congratulations for toughing it out on Planet Pain. Have we, once and for all put to bed these worlds of wonders which seem to me sometimes, to be much more real than the realization of smash-face on concrete? So this world here and now is ours alone? When our Janus-faced eyes, and Jesus-faced sensibilities awakens us to these worlds left behind in the dust of our two humogous brains.
The gamma radiactive world aflush with the NEW! Gamma radiation telescope finds things not seen that may be more important than things seen which totally warps my mind when I try to think about how inside out everything can be at times. And of the here and now is your world, and welcome to it, now you better damn well get use to it, seems like one has to adapt, one must adapt to these inside out changes that come out of left field to give the old whirlygig a run for its money. Can we run out of time before we run out of money. Hold onto your cash as the universe is a cheap ass!
You just wont believe me, let me make this perfectly clear, are my ears to big to look so small? Maybe we'd have all the control you'd like, one day on Planet You, but for now, you must get use to living with significant others who push and pull you in ways you do ont want to go; much like the universe. So I say; "go with the flow" as if that has never been said before and you admire my wisdom because you never get sick of idioms. You are French after all is said and done. Done like dinner, I like the Napoleaon Boneaparte in you. It shivers me timbers!
Maybe you ordered a mail order bride or maybe you may have ordered the world on a silver platter, but somehow, even with all this ordering you still dont like the way it is going down.
The world it's natural state is a horribly brutal painfulness which never really, to my sensitvities never gives me the soothing balm of a thousand hyssop branches. The fine cedars of Lebanon could not awaken me for another day once more to realize I am shutout of this world of what I have termed "Planet Pain". Who needs this S&M pain? Really? It is always there in the background, seething like a snake on acidosis. NObody would ever hurt a snake, because they are not the culprit, the fact is there is just an imbalance in the painfreeness we want the earth to be for all. Get out the Love Balm, it is next to the chapstick
Alert to my surround-sound world of predestination, I realize I am not alone in my quest to figure all this out. Maybe that is the angst-ridden neuroses; of toss and turn, trying to figure it all out. "Let it Be, Let it Be, Let it Be, Let It Be, There will be an answer, Let It Be" ever since "Let It Be" came out in '69 I have been waiting for the answer. It is there, if you listen, observe and wonder as a child, no need to compartmentalize the whole event, let our souls do the walking, soon to do the talking, soon to do the arrangng the here and now world anyway you want, like a tourist in a come to Florida commercial!
Yes, as I did say in the last paragraph we all should just "let it be", thank-you very much Beatles. Or maybe I should just let it happen, without question, without need to control the ultimate outcome. Which is? Delusion or reality. Your choice. Your conclusion. You write the song that makes the whole world sing. Thank-you Barrie Manalow! I feel it has all been said and done before, nothing new under the sun, how creative is that? Even at my most creative I am copying someone or something that has gone before? Except ever so slightly different and one degree to the left, or right depending on the magnetic polarization of the sun.
If it is a question of truly making my world the way I want it, why does it never go the way I orginally intend? Why do I feel absolutely powerless? Whose destiny is this awake plane? What control do I have over my environment. Can I actually stop events from happening? Should I stop these gruesome events? Could I? Is it in the best interest of all? Especially if the wake state is as much as an illusion as the sleep state, only more detailed because it is right here; out there; front and centre. The pivotal place in the universe; the penultimate reality forced down our throat because it has no where else to go.
So this wake state is an illusion as much as my dreams which are also an illusion coming from some great transductive transponder, "The Conductor" who may conduct such willy nilly ouevres like John Cage music, or BDQ Bach, yes I remember, Dave, and this is our half-shelf life of misgivings, totally trapped caught in the food that food trapper, the garburator of life. Things change and stay the same.
All for naught. Or naught for all? Naughty nights of dream anything you'd like, your pleasure dome decreed. Who'd think that would ever happen, but maybe just maybe, we can and do control our dreams. Then what does this say? I can have more power in dreams than in reality? Why? Was I born on a backward magnetic day or something? Maybe that is why kids read and write backwards and maybe why there is backwards speech? An idea anyway. Better than an old pair of wholly then thou old socks.
Isn't life Grand, like the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island. Oh, yes dreamy forever dreamy dear sweet Christopher Reeve, Jane Seymours forever love on that Turtle Island of Love; Somewhere In Time. Yes, does that become history when Love Never Dies? Tell me please. Can I get any more now?
It seems now thatthere is more now and what could be possibly wrong with that? The world goes right to left and I go the other way. So what? Better than right, correct as usual Prince Friday. Ms Ying and Yang the enabler of all things balanced. No blame in that. Wouldn't the YINGYANG powers of endless chi engima allow any wiggle room in my favourite Jello? Certainly I am my own worst critic. I sput the wick of the wickedly good flame that I am before I even get started. Don't get me started!
Last evening I finally was able to dream a little dream and I don't know why. Why did I have endless non-dream nights? Neon dream nights only happen during blue moons? Could it be that I am no longer in need of the angst-filled nights of my making? Could I reverse the trend and make the subsequent power of hands allow for my complete control of the world encountered here? How? I can't even get my computer keyboard to keep up with my thoughts. The sputtering sputnik! What can I do? Where can I find the power for F.R.O.Y.D.? FOR THE REALITY OF YOUR DREAMS? "Your" meaning "Mine" for now..until I make my life so damn good that you will just want to join me in this wonderful world. Wholly zealots bathmat! What do you think I am? I am just a goil? How am I suppose to be that much more than Superwoman? But I am secretly superwoman, this is my little secret that helps me when the world shoves not only the blue nasties my way but breaks my shoulderings, breaks my stride, convuludes me with mistruths and sinking sand and the end of time; my time; my demise. I am not asking for a pity party. Thrown cash my way will only expire too. What I need is a complete overhaul of the disfunctionary matrix; a way out of hell.
Jesus came to me again in my dreams. Again on the shores of some river or pond or marshy area. I followed the white robes around trying to touch them again, and then the dream changed to something else; always shifting like sand. I rarely cry out in my dreams but my feelings guide me along to the next scenario my broken soul needs to see and feel. "This is the worst coffee I have ever had, it tastes like pcb-infested by taliban coffee-makers to pollute our bodies, minds and souls for a complete takeover. Before time these battles were waged. I rarely had to taste the poison on my lips. We knew. We knew from knowing. Things were fairly straight forward. The boggieman was in the bag. Captured. The presence of the bm was not as important as...let's say..what you were going to have for breakfast. Things were fairly straight forward back then, you didnt worry at all about where the next attack and upon which shore. You didnt have the black lines under your eyes. If you did the concealer did work to make you look to you that at least the art of concealer could conceal a thousand sins of a thousand nights with Ali Baba and his, how many, why forty theives? It is better than fifty I suppose...?
As we gather, garnish and greet the great day, the sun a pop-up ball of plasma energy, so different than my plasma soul, my red corpusles sing silently when i breifly look upon her. She is glorious. She is Mary Travers of Peter Paul and Mary who died yesterday and is now with the sun. She shines upon me as I recall my first song in Kindergarten; Puff The Magic Dragon. Mary's Peace; Sunshine days with her sweet voice filling my world with all things magic with possibilities. She is me actually.
The sun; I hope she doesn't have a cold today. And today, and for the past week, I have been sick with ear pain. Very unfun. Very Planet Pain. From these lofty shores I have figured out why I get sick; I have environmental illness. Not long ago, well yes, in my twenties, I got a bad case of the sinusitus. Since then I have not been able to tolerate mold and ragweed season. I had never actually had this problem until i found out that being an adult meant acceptance of things unacceptable by pre-twenties standards. I have to accept the fact I dont like it and there may not be a lot i can do about allergies. So I suffer. I have my arsenal against the dreaded sinus inflammations but now, in retrospect I realize I have been for far too long a victim of my environment. And I don't like it. I said this. Why must I always reinterate. I feel no one is listening or gives an f of a damn. Oh well. Maybe one day my astute observations will save a soul or something. Then I will be recognized ipso facto and post humously as the person most likely to be the winner after being lost in action or MIA, missing in action. I wasnt missing, just horribly, horribly ignored for some reason. Why? If you know let me know. Probably I come off as a bore or dull or stupid or vexing. Whatever! Who the hell cares when I am posthumous and getting an award? I need to celebrate this me dead down-time! Where am I? Could you call me up? Talk to me? I may be right beside you listening and watching everything you say or do. Isnt this creepy and sort of sexy for a dead person. But in my dreams dead people are very sexy. I mean ghosts not corpses that is sick!
Yes, as I said, besides dead Jesus (who is resurrected and therefore not officially dead anymore) only in the old BC/AD calendar system. Today, my dead ghost friends, that like ghosts are hidden behind silver screens, really want to come forward into my here and now world but cannot for some odd reason of nonmenclature. That beast!
So no more old friends that just remain on the shelf until my dreams or the great beyond call them back into their image I had created for them to return to be my friend again and we have those fun dream adventures that I am so go at (poor english I realize). Yes, we were off to see the wizard on more than a few occasions, and the wizard to did not provide me with, repeat DID NOT provide me with one IOTA of quota as to what the world is really, really!
So I go on. No, I go on.
Unless the sun makes me blind from it's intense plasma rays streaming into my visual cortex as I try to type and I am like a yaqui indian I look straight at the sun (DON'T EVER LOOK DIRECTLY AT THE SUN, NOT EVEN DIRETLY NOT WITHOUT GRADE 18 GREEN WELDERS GLASSES) so say experts at NASA. Anyway, I did briefly look at the sun the other day and I notied something odd about the sun. Besides I am not encountering the extreme visions of Yaquis or the catholic coommunity at Lourdes the Fatima vision of the melting sun upon the earth but I do notice this; the sun has a light ring around it, around the outside of it. This I noticed one afternoon about a week or two ago. The sun had, this is a keen observation folks, that the sun is sloughing off something or chnging into ring like things. Amazing. And gives me reason to think about the planets in cocentric rings around the sun. The fear of the collapsing parts of things always moving always decaying and becoming; something else, eh. This is what the sun makes me think about; space and all that is in it. The sun is so unreal a reality. And yet you know this pivotal moment in time is only the touch stone to other maultiple things over and over again repeating ever so similar patterns, ever so similar but yet slightly altered in the newness of the process of decay which moves everything slightly two inches to the left thank you I Chong. It is amazing all this. And it is right now at this very moment that I am typing here writing to you happening. It is as if you can touch it the same time the sun is in y eyes and I give you the vision that the sun has placed there. Amazing and breathe a sigh a deep breathe it is all too beautiful to describe. But I willl certainly try. Yes I will. As I type this blinded by the sun, I realize, we are all blinded by the sun, or by the power that is our existence. It is too powerful to fully understand unless intuitively, buy some snake reptilian brain that knows and says nothing. Waiting for that day to leap forth into the sun to become again. and again and again. obviously there is no end to all this and our souls go on and on and on so i am sure I willl meet you one day again. As I had said I wanted to write to you one day. You were hestitate. I knew at that moment you really didnt have a life plan for me. Oh well. We can still be friends? Hopefully.

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